If The City Never Sleeps (Then That Makes Two)
by arollercoasterthatonlygoesup
Summary: Out of money and options, Katniss Everdeen joins the Ordered Spouse program for the Capitol stipend. What she doesn't expect is to be ordered, and certainly not by such a kind boy. In Panem AU. No Games. Arranged marriage fic.
1. Chapter 1

She holds onto her paperwork tightly, trying to figure out where exactly she's supposed to be. The train station is more than a little bit hectic, but she sees more than a few of the girls and boys from the train being led around by brightly dressed citizens and feels embarrassed that she can't figure out where it is that she's supposed to be.  
Even just that would be bad enough, but everything about this place is incredibly hard to take in. All of the colors are too harsh, too bright, and hard to look at. The colors are _everywhere_, really. Saturating hair, clothes, skin. She wonders what color her _husband_ will be. How she's supposed to act if the man that picked her out is some strange shade of purple. What she's supposed to do if he expects _her _to get dyed some strange shade of purple once she's settled into his house. Is that the sort of thing she could say no to?

It's while she's thinking about this that she notices the man looking at her from about twenty feet away. She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. He's normal looking. At least, compared to some of the other people that she's seen today, he is. His hair is carefully styled, sure, but it's a shade of blonde that she's positive is natural if his eyebrows are any indication. Even his suit, which is much nicer than anything she's ever seen in District Twelve, is almost understated in its simplicity.  
She just can't quite figure out why it is that he's watching her. Sure, she sticks out like a sore thumb here, but not so much more than the other people from the Districts. She's even wearing the dress that her mother had sent with her, and while the blue isn't close to the vivid hues that surround her, it's not even tattered or ripped.

Finally, the man reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he quickly unfolds and holds out in her direction.

_Katniss Everdeen Mellark_, it reads in careful, almost familiar cursive. When she glances up and sees the way that his eyebrows are drawn together, she wonders if the paper is missing a question mark. Either way, she nods, taking a hesitant step towards him and watching for his reaction.

He's some sort of hired help, she decides. That would certainly explain the lack of alterations. Her _husband _must have been busy, must have sent him here to pick her up and have her waiting at the house for him when he gets back.  
So she's really far too relieved when he smiles at her, but the thought that someone from here could at least _pretend_ to approve of her is a nice one. He refolds the note and slips it back into his pocket, taking a few steps towards her. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he has the chance to, a woman jostles Katniss from behind, knocking her down onto her hands and knees and sending the envelope of documents skidding across the floor.

Someone kneels down to pick them up before she has the chance to chase after it and she feels completely helpless. What happens if she has no forms to present to her husband? Will she be permitted to leave the station at all?  
She's more surprised than she really should be to look up and see the man from earlier in front of her, envelope secure in one hand and the other stretched out to her. She hesitates but winds up taking it and letting him help her to her feet. His hand is big and warm and soft, not small and cold and calloused like hers. She wonders if maybe that's why he's so quick to let go of her and hand the envelope back over.

"I'm sorry. Katniss, right?" he asks in a voice somewhat lacking the Capitol affectations other than the way that he says her name. _Kaht_niss.

She nods.

"Excellent," he says, giving her the same smile that he did earlier and digging into his other pocket to produce a receipt that he presents to her almost shyly. It's fairly basic; _Peeta Mellark has purchased Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve through the Ordered Spouse registry, confirmation code 6483316291810_. She pulls her receipt out from the top of the stack inside of the envelope, sure that he doesn't want to bring back the wrong bride. He scans it quickly and then smiles, handing it back over. "If you don't mind my asking, where's your luggage?"

"It's . . . they lost it. In District Six."

He frowns. "I am _so _sorry. I'll get that straightened out for you, I promise. In the meantime, can I get your papers?"

She's just afraid enough of being knocked over again to hand it over. He slides the stack out and shuffles some of the papers around, probably checking to make sure that everything is in order, and glances over one of them for a second before looking up at her. It's the first time that her eyes have directly met his and she's taken aback by how _blue _they are, but they suit him just well enough that she doesn't think that they're artificial, like the sort she saw advertised on the train. "Are you ready to get going? It isn't a terrible drive to the apartment, but traffic tends to get pretty bad after the trains come in."

She nods and follows him as he begins to lead her out of the station. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at her. She wonders what the man he works for is like. He's obviously concerned. She doesn't blame him, honestly. It would be an awful investment, really. Buying a bride and having your worker lose her in the train station before you even meet her.

He pushes the door open and hangs back, waiting for her to go through. She can't help but to pause once she's outside. It looks _nothing _like home, all pavement and spindly, candy colored buildings. It's much brighter than it looks on television. She almost feels sick.

"What do you think?" the boy asks. She notices the way that he's examining her and tries to keep her answer diplomatic.

"It's not what I'm used to."

"Oh, I can't even imagine," he says, and she doesn't doubt it for a second.

"Are there no trees?" she asks before she can help herself.

"Trees?" he asks. "There are some in front of the buildings and in vases. We have some national parks too, though, and they're not too far of a drive. I imagine you'll like those a little bit more."

She looks over at him and he gives her a smile that's almost _shy_.

"I will say, though, that the skyline gets a whole lot more interesting when you know which building is which. We'll have to get you out there so you can see what I mean."

_We_? She wonders how much time this boy will spend around her and her husband. She hopes that it's a lot, because he seems kind and she doesn't dislike him. Maybe that's all she needs out here. Someone who she doesn't actively dislike.

"Is the house close to town?" she asks.

"Oh! The complex is actually – if I'm not mistaken – right behind that blue one," he says, stepping a little bit closer and hesitating a little bit before his finger stills in front of the right building. After a second, he chuckles. "You'd think I'd be sure by now."

She looks over at him, not entirely sure how she's supposed to respond to that.

"I parked over here," he says, nodding towards the lot. "So, if you're ready . . ."

She nods when he trails off, not wanting to get him in trouble for being late.

It's impressive, honestly, how quickly he locates his car in the sea of them. He has her in front of an orange one within a few minutes. He unlocks it and opens the door for her, waiting for her to get in.

"Do you need help with the belt?" he asks once she's seated, and she wonders if it's obvious just how uncomfortable she is. She's _never _been in a car before, but it doesn't seem like particularly interesting information, so she doesn't bother telling him, she just nods.

He reaches behind her to pull part of the belt around and across her lap to connect on the other side of the seat with an almost _shy _smile. "My brothers hate these things, but I don't think you can ever be too careful. You know? All right, could you do me a favor and lean forward? Just to make sure it isn't locked."

She does, surprised that she can actually move.

"Perfect," he says, closing the door and coming around the front to get in on the other side. She realizes that she could have probably figured it out herself when she watches him buckle himself in. "How was your trip, Katniss?"

"Fine," she says automatically and then changes her mind. "Long."

He smiles as he pulls out of the lot, glancing over at her. "You had to go through every District, right?"

"Right," she agrees. She gets the distinct impression that he's waiting for her to continue, but she's not entirely sure what she's supposed to say.

"We aren't far," he says after a moment.

He isn't lying. He's parking in the lot of a tall building within minutes. She's surprised when he comes around to open the door for her.

"It's the red button," he tells her, nodding towards the belt. She locates it easily enough, pressing it and freeing herself. He offers her his hand, helping her out of the car and down onto the pavement.

"Thank you, Mister . . .?" she trails off, waiting for him to supply his name and he looks confused and maybe _disappointed_.

"Mellark," he says after a moment. "I would really prefer it if you called me Peeta, though."

She feels her eyes widen. _He's_ Peeta? But he's so young! Why would he resort to ordering someone like her so early? "I . . . _oh, _I'm sorry."

"About what?" he asks. "I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I can't believe I didn't, actually. I guess I just figured you knew."

She shakes her head. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he says, and she's surprised that he doesn't let go of her hand. In fact, he keeps hold of her hand all the way through the parking garage and the lobby, only letting go once they're in the elevator. . Katniss has been in an elevator exactly two times in her life. First to accept a medal for her father and then again to sign up for _this _and that elevator had been absolutely nothing like this one.  
He presses a button, completely nonchalant. What sort of a life must he live for this to be commonplace?

It shoots up, leaving her stomach feeling strange, like it was left behind. It's almost _thrilling_. If she wasn't sure that it would sound absolutely childish, she might ask if they could ride it again. It opens to a hallway and he smiles at her and then begins to lead her down it. She glances at all of the numbers that they pass, sort of astounded.

"Here we are," he says, unlocking one of the doors and opening it for her.

She looks around, surprised at how _big _it is. The living room alone must be at least twice as large as her – old – house. The walls are a spotless white. There's not only a huge black couch but two matching plush armchairs facing a huge television tied together with a black and white rug.

There's a huge canvas hanging on the wall with a sunset painted on it. She takes a step towards it before she can stop herself. It's gorgeous, really, mostly oranges with just a hint of red. When she glances over at him he's studying her, much the same way as when he showed her the skyline.

"Sorry," she says, feeling her cheeks heating up.

"For what?" he asks.

"I'm . . . I didn't mean to hold you up."

"Hold me up?" he asks. "I've already seen the place, you know. And I'm never going to get mad at you for wanting to look at a painting, especially not one of mine."

Suddenly she feels embarrassed about being caught looking at it for so long. "You painted this?"

"I did," he says.

"It's . . . very pretty," she says.

"Thank you," he says, smiling. "Would you like to see the bedroom?"

She nods, following him down a hallway and into the bedroom. The bed is gigantic, topped with a fluffy dark blue blanket and a tall dark wooden headboard with all sorts of pillows propped up against it in varying shades of blue.

"That's the bathroom, over there," Peeta says.

There are three white doors on the wall that he motions to, and just outside of the two that are closer together is a huge dresser that matches the headboard, complete with a mirror above it. A silver picture frame rests on top of it, proudly displaying a picture of three blonde haired boys that she can't quite make out.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Sort of," she admits.

"I have some steaks marinating in the refrigerator," he says. "I'll go get them started."

"You don't have to," she says, but the way that he looks at her makes it clear that he thinks that he does.

She follows him into the kitchen, amazed at how shiny everything is. He starts to pull things out of the tall icebox that must be the _refrigerator _that he mentioned.

He turns and gives her a small smile. "You don't have to stay in here with me, you know."

She freezes.

"Not that you _can't_," he hurries to amend. "You just don't have to. You can go find something to watch on TV if you want to."

She heads for the living room, and she means to try to figure out how to use the remote, she really does. She just doesn't get around to it. She winds up just taking her boots off and curling up on the couch, head on the armrest. Her eyelids are heavy within moments and she's most of the way asleep when she feels a blanket settle around her and she's just tired enough not to look up.  
She thinks she murmurs _thanks_. At least, she hopes that she does.

When she wakes up, she sees that it's the quilt she noticed in the bedroom around her. She stands up and folds it carefully before she drapes it over the back of the couch.

She heads for the kitchen next, not surprised that Peeta is still in there, humming to himself as he works on stirring something on the stove. She watches him for a moment, alternating looking between his back and the table full of food behind her.

"Can I help with anything?" she asks.

He actually _jumps_, taking a moment to take the saucepan off of the heat before he turns to face her.

"You're very quiet," he says.

"Sorry," she says and he frowns.

"It's not a bad thing. And everything is actually pretty much done in here. I was just heating up the béarnaise sauce."

She nods, opting to pretend like she knows what that is rather than making him explain it to her.

It's quiet for a moment. She tries desperately to remember the advice that one of the girls from District Four had given her on the train. She said that it was twelve years of lessons condensed into one. _Make him like you_.

"You . . . um . . . you said you had brothers?" she asks.

"Two," he says. "Dylan and Ryan, but everyone calls him _Rye_, like the bread."

"You're the oldest?" she asks.

"Oh, no, I'm the youngest. They still tease me about being the baby, actually, even though we're all only a few years apart."

She examines him for a moment. He's so tall and stocky that it's hard to imagine anyone teasing him at all, let alone about something like that.

"They can't wait to meet you, you know. It was hard to convince them to let me come to the station by myself," he chuckles.

As she listens, she realizes that there's something different about his accent compared to the other ones that she's heard today. It's a little bit fainter and underneath all of the silly affectations it almost sounds like there's a hint of the drawl that she's used to from home. She tells herself that she's being ridiculous.

"What about you?" Peeta asks. "Do you have any siblings?"

She closes her eyes, remembering the way that Prim had sobbed when the Peacekeepers came to collect her.  
_  
Katniss! You can't leave!  
_  
"I am _so _sorry," he says. "You don't have to answer that. I wasn't thinking at all."

"A sister," Katniss forces the words out, her voice shaky.

"Please. _Please_ don't feel like you have to answer that. I really shouldn't have asked," he says. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Water would be good," she says, sitting down in the chair he pulls out for her. He's back in a moment with a glass of water for her and starts to fill her plate, starting with the steak and then going through each of the sides that he's made, sure to tell her what they are.

"Macaroni and cheese," he says, and there's absolutely nothing condescending about it, but she's grateful because she's never had it before in her life. "Let me know if there's anything you don't like. Okay?"

She nods, but by the time her plate is full almost to the point of overflowing, she hasn't come across anything that she would even dream of saying _no _to.

Other than that, he doesn't really speak during dinner. She's positive that she's ruined everything. That she should have just gotten over it and told him about Prim.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep earlier," she says by way of apology and he smiles at her.

"With the trip that you've had, I doubt that anyone could fault you for being tired. If you don't want to sleep in that dress tonight, you're more than welcome to any of my clothes. We'll get you some clothes that you don't have to swim in, but in the meantime . . ."

"Thank you," she says.

"Oh, of course," Peeta smiles, as if she could have expected him to be so generous. "There's a shower in the bathroom, too, if you want to use it. There are some towels hanging up."

"Thank you," she says again and he nods.

"You can go ahead and start getting ready for bed, if you'd like," he says.

"Are you sure?" Katniss asks. "It's pretty early. I can stay up."

He smiles. "Don't be silly. What time is it in the time zone you're used to? Midnight? One in the morning?"

She shrugs, looking over at the kitchen clock that displays _7:15 _and feeling ridiculous.

"There's a toothbrush on the counter for you, too," he says. "I hope you don't mind sharing toothpaste."

The thought of being alone –if only for a few moments – is just nice enough that she thanks him and heads for the bedroom.

His closet is enormous. Almost as big as her old room, she thinks, the one that she shared with her mother and sister. It's _filled _with clothes, too. There are four suit jackets in the back, like the one that he had worn earlier today.  
She winds up finding a red plaid flannel shirt hanging up and tugs it down. Her father had had one like it, though it was much more worn by the time it was passed down to Katniss. She had even packed it, but it doesn't do her much good now, lost somewhere in District Six's train station. She digs through the drawers until she comes across a pair of black pants with a drawstring. She changes first, pulling the string as tight as she can when she ties it. She winds up hoisting the waist up above her belly button, but the bottoms still pool at her feet. The shirt comes down to her thighs, but as much as she would hate to admit it, it's more comfortable than the dress.

She feels ridiculous, but she sits down on the floor in front of her mother's dress and she _cries_ long and hard and probably far too loudly. She cries for her sister and for her mother and for the Hawthornes. She cries for the bag of clothing that she lost and for the plant book that she had left at home in the first place and she cries for the fact that her last name isn't _Everdeen _anymore.  
She finally realizes that Peeta will want to use his bathroom eventually and stares up at the ceiling until she manages to calm herself down enough.

She brushes her teeth next, having a little bit of trouble getting it out of the package, and squeezes some of Peeta's _toothpaste _onto it, cleaning her teeth and refusing to look at herself in the mirror until she's finished. Her face is red and puffy even after she washes it, but there's nothing else she can do.

Peeta has already remade the bed and changed into his pajamas when she finally emerges and he's crouched in front of the dresser, going through one of the drawers that she had closed as soon as she realized that it didn't have clothing in it.  
He looks up at her and offers her a smile, but it's just weak enough that she knows that he knows what she was doing in there.

"Did you find everything okay?" he asks, and she's more relieved than she should be that he doesn't ask if she's okay.

"Yeah, I did," she says. "Thank you."

He nods and pulls whatever it was he looking for from the drawer.

"I'm glad," he says, nudging it closed with his knee. It's when he opens the device on the dresser that she realizes that it's there – and that it most definitely wasn't before. He pulls a disk from the case he retrieved and pops it into place. The second that he closes the device again, music begins to play.

"Folk music," he explains, glancing between her and the player. "My father really likes it."

She nods dumbly, wondering what he's getting at.

"I just need to grab a pillow and then I'll be out of your hair," he announces, heading for the bed.

"What?" she asks.

"I just need to grab a pillow," he reiterates.

She shakes her head, unable to understand why in the world he would go to the trouble of setting up music to fall asleep to if he doesn't intend to stay to listen to it. "No."

"No?" he asks, looking almost amused.

"Stay in here," she says. "I can sleep on the couch."

"I am _not _making you sleep on the couch. Especially not on your first night here," he says, and she can't believe the words she's about to say but she says them anyway.

"Then stay in here with me."

A smile plays on his lips. "Are you sure?"

She nods.

"Because if you aren't –"

"I am," she says, her voice slightly more harsh than she means for it to be because she's nowhere near sure and it would be almost alarmingly easy for him to talk her out of it. "Thank you for the clothes."

He chuckles. "Don't mention it. In fact, you should keep them."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she says, shaking her head.

"I insist," Peeta says. "That shirt looks much better on you."

She reaches down and plays with the hem. "Then goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight," he agrees with a smile. He pulls the blanket back for her on his way to the bathroom and she settles in while he's in there.

Now that she's really listening to it, the music is strangely soothing. The guitar sounds almost like one of the songs that would be played at the Harvest Festival, but not enough to make her heart ache.

Her eyes are closed when she hears the bathroom door open, but she notices the difference when Peeta turns the light out and joins her in the bed. He doesn't say anything for such a long time that she's nearly sure that he's asleep until he sighs.

"I really hope you can be like it here, Katniss," he says, his voice so gentle and kind that she feels the tears pricking at her eyes again.


	2. Chapter 2

Peeta's side of the bed is empty when she wakes up. On some level, she realizes that this means that he's probably wanting for her to get up. That isn't enough to convince her, though. She rolls over and stretches out into the now-empty space. It still contains just a whisper of Peeta's body heat, but it's almost nice. She buries her face in her pillow and pulls the quilt up over her head to block out the little bit of light streaming in through the closed blinds.

She's asleep again within moments.

It's not that Peeta was hard to share a bed with. He was asleep before long and spent the rest of the night that way. He didn't say anything when her feet brushed up against his legs in the middle of the night, but she felt bad enough about it to curl up into a ball on her side and stay there all night long.

When she wakes up again, it's because she hears the bathroom door shutting. She sits up and sees Peeta making his way out. He freezes when he sees her, as if he's been caught doing something that he shouldn't have been.  
He's already dressed – albeit much more casually than he was when he picked her up. He's wearing jeans and a light blue button-down shirt. His hair isn't styled the way that it was yesterday, either. Now she can see the way that it curls almost haphazardly. It's sort of cute, she realizes.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice just barely over a whisper. "I just wanted to put my contacts in."

Contacts? She shakes her head, trying to decide that it doesn't matter that she doesn't know what he's talking about. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven," he says. "But don't get up on my account."

"I'm up," she assures him, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Her days didn't have much significance on the train, but she can't remember the last time that she ever slept for so long in her life.

"Well, there's no rush," he says. "But I did make cinnamon rolls."

It's decided, then. She's getting up.

* * *

It isn't until she's in the middle of brushing her teeth that she remembers that she left her dress on the bathroom floor, and that's only because it's not there anymore.

She wonders what, exactly, it would take to convince him that she didn't leave it there because she forgot, just that she meant to wear it in the morning. It's not that much of a stretch, either. She doesn't exactly have anything else to change into and on top of that, she has no idea at all where she should have put her dress.

Besides, if she's being honest, she does like a shirt. Probably more than she really should. But he offered it to her, whether or not he was being genuine when he said that he liked it on her. And it's not like she has a lot of clothing options, anyway, so she's going to keep it.

Peeta is waiting for her in the kitchen. There's a dish in front of him filled with what must be his cinnamon rolls and they're absolutely gorgeous.

"How many do you want?" he asks after a moment, and when she turns to face him and sees the plates and forks in front of him, she's embarrassed for some reason.

"Um . . ." she trails off.

"Two to start off with, then," he says cheerfully, dishing two of them out and then setting the plate in front of the chair she sat in at dinner. She notices that there's already a glass of water waiting for her as she sits down and is surprised by how sweet the gesture is.

"I have some good news," he says after he's put a couple of the rolls on his plate. "I called the train station in District Six this morning. It turns out that they found your bag just a little while after you transferred trains and just needed someone to claim it so they knew where it was going. So I was able to get that done for you."

She's impressed, honestly. Tracking down that number couldn't have been easy and even if it was, it must have been one of the first things he did when he woke up. That and making breakfast for her. "Thank you," she manages after she's finally swallowed her bite.

"Oh, you might not want to thank me yet," he says, which is enough to make her stomach drop before she hears the rest of what he's saying. "They put the bag on the next train headed our way, but it's another bridal train, so it has to make the rest of its stops before they drop it off at the station."

"Thank you," she says again, because she's not really sure what else there is to say. "Really."

"You're welcome. I was thinking, though, that you might need some clothing to wear in the meantime. So – if you're feeling up to it, of course – maybe we could go out and get you some today?"

It takes a moment for her to understand what he's suggesting because of how shy he sounds. Is she feeling up for what? To let him buy her clothes? "You don't have to," she says.

"I'd like to," he says. "Of course, you're still welcome to my clothes. As much as you'd like to wear. I just figured that you might be a little bit more comfortable in something of your own."

He certainly isn't wrong, and as much as she wants to argue with him, she isn't sure if he would offer again if she did. She's still relieved that she had been feeling sentimental enough to wear her mother's dress the day that the train started having difficulties. That she had something pretty to meet Peeta in once the people on the train took back the clothing that they let her borrow.

"That would be very nice of you," she says. "Thank you."

"Now, if you're not ready, just let me know."

"Why wouldn't I be ready?" she asks.

"Well, I know how long you were on the train," he says. "If you wanted to spend a day here, that would be perfectly fine."

She thinks about it, but after all of the sleep that she's had, she can't imagine anything that would make wanting to stay in his apartment worth it. "No, I'm fine," she says.

He smiles at her. "Are you sure?"

She nods. "I'd like to get out. Really."

It's quiet for a long moment. She's halfway finished with the first of the cinnamon rolls when something chimes. He pulls something small out of his pocket and scans it. Once he reads what it has to say he sighs.

"What?" she asks before she can stop herself from being nosy.

"It's my brother," he explains, setting it down. "Like I said yesterday, they're really eager to meet you."

"Oh," she says, not entirely sure why that should frustrate him. There's another chime and he doesn't even check it, just sort of rolls his eyes.

"I told Dylan that I wanted to give you some more time to settle in, but he apparently took that as me telling him that I thought twenty four hours on solid ground was enough," he explains. "So he made reservations for dinner tonight and is hounding me to make sure that I actually ask you like I said I would."

"Do you want to go?" she asks.

"Not if you're not ready," he says.

She resists the urge to tell him that that's not what she asked. She's sure that he does, anyway. Otherwise he wouldn't have brought it up. And it's not that she really wants to go, but considering all of the effort that he went through to get her luggage, she's sure she could make it through a dinner. She decides to switch tactics. "I'd like to meet your brothers," she lies.

He smiles at her, but just barely. She wonders if he can see right through her. "You really don't have to go."

She nods, but then a thought hits her. "If you don't want me to go, you can just tell them that I'm sick. Girls got sick on the train all the time. They said it was because of the different viruses from the Districts. Immune systems and . . ."

He shakes his head before she even finishes talking. "No. No. Why wouldn't I want you to go? I definitely want you to go. Just not until you're ready."

He continues like she's just said the silliest thing he's ever heard.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come across that way. I'd love for you to meet my brothers."

"Can I use your shower?" she asks before she finishes her last roll, deciding to get the question out of the way while he's already thinking that she's an idiot.

He hesitates for a moment and then laughs, but there's absolutely nothing malicious about it. It's like he genuinely thinks that it's funny that she asked. "Yes," he says, suddenly serious. "Yes, you can use the shower. You don't have to ask permission. It's just as much your shower as is it is mine."

The meaning is still there in her words, but she's overwhelmingly grateful that he didn't tell her that it's her house. She wonders if he knows that it isn't. Not yet, at least.

"But while we're talking about it, I wasn't sure if you would be bringing shampoos or soaps with you, so I picked some things up last time I was at the store," he says. "I had no idea what to buy, though. I wound up picking up the strawberry stuff, but don't feel like you have to use it. You can use mine – the stuff in the green bottle – if you'd prefer it. And you can definitely pick out the kind you like today."

"Strawberry should be fine," she assures him. "Um, about my dress . . ."

"Oh!" he says. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't want it to get stepped on or anything so I hung it up in your closet," he says.

She decides to swallow her apology and finish her breakfast.

* * *

Peeta's shower is different than the one that she used on the train. Rather than the panel that she had so much trouble with, there are knobs, like the sort on she's learned to use on sinks. It takes her a moment to adjust the temperature to something that's tolerable.

It feels incredible to stand under the hot water. She's positive that she spends too long just enjoying the way that the hot water feels against her skin. It takes her a moment to work up the nerve, but she does finally open one of the pink bottles and take a hesitant sniff.

She's pleased that it doesn't smell very much like the berries that she and Gale – used to – bring to Madge Undersee. She likes the smell much more than she had liked the rose scent that she had accidentally used during her last shower on the train. She lathers it into her hair and marvels at how different it is from how they bathed at home. How something as bizarre as a separate soap for her hair is suddenly commonplace after a few showers on a train.

The glass door of the shower is steaming up by the time she rinses her hair out and grabs the conditioner. There's even a bottle of soap waiting in there for her, though it's not strawberry. It's some sort of vanilla scent. She can tell it's for her, because the green bottle that Peeta uses proudly declares that it's a three-in-one. She wonders why he would buy her something different only to offer her the stuff he likes to use.

It takes a little while to work up the nerve to turn the water off and open the door, and when she does and the cold air hits her, she regrets it instantly. Just like she regrets not bringing her dress in with her as she reaches for a towel to wrap herself in.

She dries her hair as much as she can and braids it, but there's no avoiding it. If she wants to change back into her dress – which she doesn't, not really – she'll have to go back into the room. She secures the towel as tightly as she can, though it only really comes down to about the middle of her thigh. She steels herself and opens the bedroom door, saying goodbye to the rest of the steam, and heads for the closet.

It's just as she's reaching up to take her dress from the hanger that she hears footsteps behind her.

"Hey, so –" Peeta begins but stops suddenly, presumably because he's seen her towel. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I'm going to be in the living room."

She manages to nod but stays exactly where she is, clutching the towel as tightly as she can and staring at the back of the closet. She stays that way until she hears the door shut behind Peeta, which happens so quickly that she's nearly positive that he sprinted out. The thought of Peeta running from the room at the sight of his wife in a towel is almost funny. Maybe it would be if she wasn't so mortified.

She gets dressed as quickly as possible, but she's nearly positive that he won't try to come in again. She's right.

She's not entirely sure that she'll ever be able to face him again. But when she has her hair braided, her boots on, the shirt he gave her hung up in the closet and Peeta's pants folded on the bed, there's not much else she can do to stall short of running herself another shower.

* * *

As promised, Peeta is waiting for her in the living room, shoes on and everything. He's sitting in one of the armchairs and she notices his eyes trained on her as soon as she enters the room. If she's not mistaken, his cheeks are tinted pink. Is it possible that he's more embarrassed than she is?

"So, about that," he begins, and she's sure that he is.

"It's fine," she says.

"I appreciate you saying that, but it isn't. I promise it won't happen again," Peeta says. "I just heard the bathroom door open and I'm not sure what I thought you were doing in there but it wasn't that."

"It's your bedroom," she says.

"I'm not exactly staying in it alone anymore, Katniss," he reminds her. "Besides, if you're ever going to be anywhere near comfortable here, you need to have at least some level of privacy."

His tone is so definitive that she knows better than to try to argue with him.

"You know you're allowed to be mad at me, right?" he asks gently.

"I'm not mad," she says, because she isn't. Mortified? Yes. But not angry.

He smiles. "Well, I can't say I'm not glad to hear that. Are you already ready to go?"

She's nodding before he's even finished, because she can't imagine wanting to spend another moment in his apartment.

* * *

"For the record, my brothers have been telling me how excited they are all morning. I had to put my phone on silent because of all the texts," he informs her as they get on the elevator.

So that's what he was reading from. She files the information away for later. She's just wondering whether or not she's supposed to say that she's excited too when he leans against the back wall.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she insists, and he raises his eyebrows. "Okay. Maybe a little embarrassed. But I'm fine. I lived."

"For the record, there's absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about," Peeta says, just quietly enough that she's not positive she heard him right. "But I'm glad you're fine."

* * *

It's sort of raining by the time he pulls the car out of the big garage. If she didn't know better, she would think that the way he keeps glancing out her window – maybe at her, she isn't sure – means that he's nervous about it.

She nods, watching out the front window. He navigates through the maze of buildings impressively. It only takes a moment for them to reach town and she wonders if it's the same as living in the merchant quarter.

"There might be a hoodie in the back," he says, thankfully breaking her reverie before she can think about home for too long.

"Did you want me to check?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

"Oh, no," he says. "I'll do it when we park. We aren't too far, anyway."

She nods.

"Parking does get a little bit rough around here. Do you want me to drop you off closer to the store?"

The thought of walking around here alone is so strange that she has to look over at him to realize that he isn't joking. "No."

He nods. "Fair enough."

* * *

He groans a little bit after he's looked around in the back a little bit. She gets out of the car even though he told her that she could wait.

"I don't even have an umbrella in here," he says, looking over at her. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," she says.

"I might be able to find somewhere to park a little bit closer," he says.

"No, you couldn't," she says, because she had been looking, too, after he pointed out the store that he had been planning to take her too and there haven't been any empty spaces. "Peeta, I can walk in the rain."

She realizes that it's the first time she's actually said his name out loud when he raises his eyebrows. He's smiling, though, so she's sure that she said it right.

"I mean, it's just rain. I won't melt," she says and he laughs.

"Has anyone ever told you how incredibly low maintenance you are?" he asks as he starts to lead her down the sidewalk.

It's a combination of the fact that she's sure that what he's saying isn't exactly a compliment and the breeze that makes her cross her arms, which only serves to make Peeta laugh again, but only for a second before he realizes that she isn't laughing with him.

"Hey, that's not a bad thing," he says. "It just means that you're grounded. Real."

"As opposed to fake?" she asks skeptically, but she can feel her irritation fading. He seems earnest enough, at least.

"Yes. Definitely," he says. "I think you'll see what I mean the more you're around here. My point is that you're easy to be around."

She nods.

"It was supposed to be a compliment. I promise. Sorry."

She lets her arms drop to her side at this and he's so relieved that he actually sighs.

"You know, you spend a lot of time apologizing."


	3. Chapter 3

The store that he brings her to is massive. So big that a sign a few feet from the doors they came in has to display all of the little shops inside.

"Where do you want to start?" Peeta asks. Katniss looks at the color-coded board for a moment, not sure if she's just supposed to choose one arbitrarily. "Pants or shirts or dresses, I mean," he amends.

She hesitates before she answers. "Pants. I think."

"Sounds good to me," Peeta says. "I know just the store, too. Are you ready?"

She nods.

"Perfect," he says, already striding off down the corridor. It isn't hard at all for her to catch up with him, but the thought of getting separated from him at all makes her anxious. If Gale was ever given the chance, he would rant about this for hours. About how clear things like the ordered spouse program make the difference between the Capitol and the Districts. About how dependant it makes the brides (and occasional grooms) on their spouses because of how little they'll know about their new home. How unfair it is to make someone so helpless just because they need money.

The colors in the shop are all bright. Too bright to really look at comfortably. Her eyes flit back and forth, trying to find somewhere to rest. Peeta finds one of the racks instantly and then pulls a pair of pants out by one leg. It looks almost like it's made out of the same sort of material as her father's jacket, but this has at least four discernible colors and patterns, all merging together and bleeding into each other.

"I found something," Peeta tells her.

Her heart sinks. She wonders exactly how hard it would be to talk him into just leaving without actually getting anything. Until she looks up at his face. His eyes are wider than usual as he glances from her to the pants and no matter how hard he seems to be trying to hide it, he's smiling. Even the way that he's holding it, she realizes, should have been a clue. He uses just the tips of two fingers to hold it out enough for her to see, as if he couldn't stand to touch any more of it. Like it's that bad. Which it really is, if you ask her.

She can't help herself. She laughs. The sound is foreign and sharp and ends just as quickly as it begins, because she's trying to figure out when the last time she even laughed was. Maybe in the woods with Gale that morning, before the Peacekeepers came to collect her. She isn't sure.

"I was just kidding. Let's find some decent pants," he suggests. "Plain jeans should be in back. There's also corduroys and slacks if that's what you want. Just let me know what we're looking for."

"Jeans," she confirms. "Thank you."

"I don't suppose you know your size, do you?" he asks. She shakes her head. She's not sure she's _ever _worn a pair of jeans that were sized for her. "Well, that's actually a pretty easy fix. We'll just send you in with a few different ones and you can let me know which size you like best. Okay?"

She nods.

"I don't think it'll be a very big number," he says when they reach a table with stacks of identical jeans. He shuffles through them until he finds the one that he's looking for and then repeats it a few times. He presents her with a stack of about five pairs and then smiles. "Are you ready?"

She nods, but he laughs when she just takes them.

"The fitting rooms are just over here," he says, nodding towards the corner of the store. "Do you want me to come over with you?"

She grips the jeans a little bit more tightly. "You don't have to."

"I'll come. Of course I'll come," he tells her, and then he reaches his hand out as if he's going to touch her shoulder, but then he thinks better of it and pulls it back. "Like I said, they're this way."

He sits down on the bench just outside the entryway of the fitting rooms. She leaves her dress on and pulls the jeans up, but after wearing her father's pants and rolling the bottoms up, she isn't entirely sure how she's supposed to judge whether or not they fit.

She hesitates when the first pair that she tries on sags and then puts them on the little bench in the room, trying on a smaller size. She continues this way until she finds one that settles right – if not a little bit low – on her hips. She memorizes the number and then takes them off and folds them, making sure to keep that one in the other hand so that it doesn't get mixed with the ones that didn't fit.

"Did you find one?" Peeta asks when she comes out and she nods. "Great! Now comes the fun part. You get to pick out some different washes and styles."

"How many do you think I need?" she asks, thinking of the two that are coming from home. He doesn't take her question the way she means it, though, and answers her honestly.

"I'd say at least three," he says. Her heart leaps into her throat.

The rest of the trip proves to be like this. In every store he suggests that she buy several more sweaters than she would ever pick out for herself, and every time the people at the register give him high totals, he just smiles and hands over a little card.

The very worst part is when he wordlessly leads her into a pink store filled with underwear and nods towards one of the tables. Katniss had thought that the most uncomfortable part of her day would be Peeta catching her in her towel. She was wrong.  
This is it. This has to be it. She can't imagine anything worse. All things considered, it's probably slightly more comfortable than it would have been if she had been forced to tell him that she needs underwear – she doesn't even want to _think _about how that conversation would go.

The underwear was the easy part. It's all bundled together, so she just needed to pick a package, but the bras are proving to be infinitely harder to understand.  
In addition to being ridiculously frilly and lacy things, they're all paired with numbers and letters that she couldn't even hope to figure out on her own. And it's not like she's willing to ask Peeta about them, either.

"Could I help you?" a brightly dressed woman asks as she strides towards Katniss. "I'm going to take a guess here and say that you're not from here – am I right?"

Katniss nods.

"A bride?"

She nods again.

"Oh, how _precious! _What District did you come from?"

"Twelve," she says.

"Oh, dear. You don't even know your cup size, do you?" the woman asks, and she doesn't even wait for a response before she's pulling something out of her pocket. "Raise your arms, dear. I'll measure you."

"Um," she begins, uncomfortable, and the woman laughs. She almost wishes that Peeta had come with her, because she's nearly certain that he could get her out of this.

"You'll be fine, dear. It doesn't hurt. I just need to measure you so I can figure out what size you are."

She's right. It doesn't hurt. It is uncomfortable, though, the woman being so close to her bust while she measures her. She's glad when she glances over and sees that Peeta is already looking through a rack of clothing, flipping through sweaters and blouses. She had been positive that he would be watching.

Once the letter and numbers have been determined, the woman all but shoves a handful of lacy white bras at Katniss. She almost tries to dodge them before she thinks better of it.

"Try these on. See if they fit," the woman suggests.

Katniss sets them down on the table, ignoring the concerned look that the woman gives her. "Do you have anything closer to a camisole?"

"Oh! That we do!" the woman says, leading Katniss over towards a half wall filled with them. She can't help but to let out a sigh of relief when she reaches the wall of camisoles. There are all sorts. Cottons and silks in every single shade she could imagine. It's comforting, somehow.

Never in her life has Katniss worn anything like the lacy white things on that table. She's seen one in her mother's drawer, but when Katniss got old enough to need to wear something under her clothing, her mother was only willing to part with a few of her old silk camisoles. Honestly, she wasn't particularly interested in the camisoles, either, but she still packed them when the Peacekeeper stood over them. Not that it wound up doing her any good at all.

She just picks a white cotton one at first, but after a moment she greedily takes a black silk one as well, hoping that Peeta won't mind.

He doesn't.

"Is that all?" Peeta asks when she joins him, glancing down into her basket. She's sheepish when she nods.

"What do you think about these?" he asks, nodding towards a shelf of folded long and short-sleeved shirts. "Do you like any of these colors?"

She nods.

"Pick out as many as you'd like," he suggests, and she looks over at him in disbelief. "Personally, I like the blue striped one, but that's just me."

That's the first one that she picks up. The next is a dark green one. He nods towards the table again, as if she should keep going.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he says. "I mean, you can't always wear sweaters. Can you?"

She knows that her father's jacket is on the way, so refuses to let him buy her a coat because she will never wear it once the hunting jacket is here. "I'm sorry. Would it be okay if I wore one of yours? Just . . . in the meantime?"

"Of course that would be okay. Can you think of anything else you need while we're out? Clothes or food or anything?"

She shakes her head. "No. Absolutely not."

He grins at her reaction. She's nearly positive that it's what he aimed for when he took her out in the first place.

"Did you want to wear any of this tonight?" Peeta asks as he opens up a white machine she hadn't noticed the other times she was in his kitchen.

She roots through the bags until she finds the light jeans that he had picked out and the striped blue shirt along with the white camisole. She feels a little bit silly, but Peeta had liked it and she has no idea what sort of clothing she's supposed to wear for his family, so dressing for him seems like the best option.

"How much time do we have before we have to go?" she asks.

He pulls his phone out and looks at the screen. "About an hour. Is that enough time for you to get ready?"

She has to work hard at not looking at him like he's crazy. "Plenty of time."

"Great," he says. She can't imagine anything that she would do that would take her anywhere near that long.

"See you in a minute," she tells him, mostly just to prove her point.

She has to debate with herself for a moment, but she leaves her hair down no matter how strange it feels to not have it secure. It's not like she's going to be comfortable either way, so she may as well try to look nice tonight.

She's all too proud of herself for not crying this time.

The washing machine is running when she comes out and Peeta is sitting in one of the chairs at the table, messing with his phone.

"Hey, Katniss," he says when he looks up, setting the phone down. "You look gorgeous."

"Thank you. It's not too casual for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Oh, of course not."

"I didn't know how your family usually dresses for meals," she continues shyly.

"Mellarks are definitely not formal dinner people," he assures her. "You don't have to worry about that at all."

She nods.

"Though, I guess there are a _few _warnings I could give you about my brothers. Rye, first of all, just because he concerns me more than Dylan. He can be sort of hard to take at first. And I love him, 'cause he's my brother, but you give me the word if he says the wrong thing and I'll take care of it, okay?"

She watches him for a moment, surprised, and he smiles.

"He's a teaser, is what I'm saying. You sort of have to try not to take anything he says seriously, just know that he's kidding. Which isn't to say that _you _have to, because all you have to do is the say the word and I'll talk to him and get him to stop."

She sits down across from him, surprised by the promise.

"I don't have too many warnings about Dylan, come to think of it. It's more his wife."

"His wife?"

"Her name is Astrid. She was born and raised here. Comes from a long line of Capitol purebreds, actually," he says with a crooked smile. She notices just how perfectly straight his teeth are wonders if he finds it amusing because he's the same. "I don't want to say that it makes her think that she's better than other people, but it sort of makes her think that she's better than other people. Which is why it's so interesting that she married my brother. But either way, she's not too great about filtering before she speaks."

She wants to ask him what's interesting about that, but then he's continuing.

"The same goes for her as it does for Rye, though. I'll take care of anything that you need me to if you get uncomfortable. That's the last thing we want to have happen tonight."

"Okay," she says, a little bit nervous. "But do you get along with your brothers? For the most part?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course," he says. "We all work at the bakery together. Growing up we all shared one room. There's not much of a choice there, you know? You either get along or you figure out how to fake it in front of your parents, and lying about it was so much work that you wind up bonding over it anyway."

She thinks of the bed – and room – that she shared with Prim and is genuinely surprised to have something in common with him. "I shared the room with my sister," she tells him before she can talk herself out of it. "And my mother."

He watches her for a moment, looking stunned. "I don't know. I've heard people complain about it but it's certainly a bonding experience, if nothing else."

She nods her agreement.

"I don't anticipate any problems tonight," Peeta announces. "Partially because of wishful thinking, to be honest, but Rye's wife is from District Two, so I think they probably understand better than anyone what you're dealing with right now. Especially Scarlett – his wife. I think you two will probably get along pretty well. At least, I hope you will. Other than that, well, Astrid should be on her best behavior tonight."

"What about your parents?" she asks. "Anything I need to know about them?"

He frowns. "A lot, actually. They won't be there tonight, though. Which is a good thing, because they take a little bit more preparing, and I still have a day before I have to report back at the bakery. So that might be our big plans for tomorrow," he laughs.

It's quiet for a moment.

"You don't have to be nervous, Katniss," he says gently. "My brothers are going to love you. And they're nowhere near as intimidating once you meet them. You'll see."

She does see. When the hostess leads them to the table, she can't even imagine being intimidated by the two boys that look almost exactly like Peeta or the pretty women sitting beside them.  
Not with the way that the extra couple is sitting at the end of the table. Or the way that Peeta stands up a little bit straighter under the gaze of the older woman that could only be his mother.  
No, Katniss doesn't have it in her to be intimidated by so many people at once. 

Notes:

A lot of the next chapter is already written, so it shouldn't be too long of a wait . . . I hope.

All of the reviews you guys have been leaving blow me away! Thank you so much!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Yikes! Thanks to everyone who informed me about the formatting issues. I fixed it.

"Dad, Mom," Peeta says after a long moment, confirming her suspicions. "I didn't think you were going to be here tonight."

His mother looks over at Katniss before she speaks. "I assumed we had as much of a right to be here as anyone else. Was I wrong to think it was an oversight?"

Her accent is so thick that it reminds Katniss of the times that she and Gale would impersonate Capitol citizens in the woods. If she were anywhere else, the thought might make her laugh. Not here, though.

"I'm starting to think you guys are in some sort of competition to overwhelm my wife." My wife. He says it so easily. Maybe it's supposed to be easy. It's the truth, anyways, and she almost thinks that the likes the way that he said it, the way he smiled when he reached the word.

"Overwhelm her?" his mother repeats, still watching Katniss. "She's a big girl, Peeta. If she wasn't prepared to meet your family, she shouldn't have signed up."

"She's been on a train for two weeks. Give her a break," he insists, and knowing that he's so willing to stand up for her is comforting even if he doesn't exactly have his facts straight. He pulls a seat out for her across from one of the women and doesn't even think about sitting down until she's situated. She doesn't miss the fact that this means that he's put himself between her and her parents, which is probably supposed to be comforting. It isn't.

"I'm Rye," his brother says. He looks a lot like Peeta, just with shorter hair and a smile less like a grin and more like a smirk. "I'm his favorite, so imagine you've heard a lot about me by now. This is my wife, Scarlett."

She's beautiful, really, with hair that's such a light brown it's almost blonde and hazel eyes. Katniss can't help but to wonder why it is that Peeta would order a bride from District Twelve of all places.

"I'm Katniss," she offers, hoping she can completely avoid the joke about Rye being Peeta's favorite because she has no idea what to say about it.

In his seat beside her, Peeta turns to look at her. He looks confused but thankfully, Rye presses on.

"Apparently my brother isn't planning on introducing you to the others –" Rye begins, but Peeta interrupts.

"I am. You could have just given me a minute," he assures them. "Katniss, this is Rye and Scarlett across from us, and Dylan and Astrid are beside them. Then, of course, my parents are the ones at the end of the table."

He pronounces her name correctly this time. She's not entirely sure what to make of how guilty she feels about it.

"It's very nice to meet you, Katniss," Scarlett says.

"Yes, it is. You know, Dylan couldn't stop talking all day about how excited he was to meet you,"

The insinuation is clear when it's paired with the way that his eyes dart over to Dylan. It's his fault that his parents are here.

"We hear about you a lot actually," Rye continues. "Peeta has had your picture in his wallet ever since he ordered you, you know. So, of course, that means that he'd talk to you about anyone who would listen. It was kind of cute, actually."

Peeta looks thoroughly embarrassed, but she isn't sure why he should be. He liked her picture enough to order her – whether or not that actually makes sense to her. Why shouldn't he want to carry it around? Either way, she feels sorry for him. When he had mentioned the fact that his brothers tease him, she hadn't thought it would be quite so brutal.

"It's good to finally meet you, Katniss," Mr. Mellark says, and her breath catches in her throat. If Peeta's voice reminded her of home, even vaguely, his father's accent is the real thing. "Though I don't exactly agree with Rye's method of telling you, he's right. Peeta has been very excited for you to come."

"It's good to meet you, too, Sir," Katniss says, and Peeta passes her one of the menus that the waitress hands them.

"Water?" Peeta asks.

"Yes, please," Katniss says not really paying too much attention while he orders two waters. His father must be from home. He has to be. He looks exactly like a merchant . . . and just like his son. She turns to look at Peeta, unsure how she couldn't have realized it before with those blue eyes and blonde curls. Peeta smiles at her and sort of furrows his eyebrows, as if he's confused about why she's suddenly watching him.

She's quick to look away.

Even though after a while they start talking about things at the bakery that have nothing to do with her, everyone's eyes keep wandering to Katniss. She can't help but to feel increasingly uncomfortable, like she's on display.

"So, Katniss," Astrid says. "District Twelve is mining, right?"

She nods.

"So what did you do there?"

"I worked in the mines," she says, and Peeta nearly chokes on his drink of water.

"As what?" Rye asks. "A canary?"

"I was a miner," she answers truthfully, reflexively, before she realizes that he's making a joke. Then almost everyone is laughing – even Peeta – and she joins in, because it's strange here for someone like her to work in the mines, and that's almost the most amazing thing she's ever heard.

"It is sort of amazing," Peeta says gently.

"It wasn't in my file?" she asks, partially convinced that this all has been a mistake. That he meant to order another girl and got sent her instead.

"Oh, no. It was. It was all I really got to know about you other than your birthday and your height. And, apparently, how not to pronounce your name."

She bites her lip.

"So how did Peeta warn you about his bionic leg? Or did he just let you trip over it?" Rye asks.

It takes a moment for her to realize that he's talking to her, the question is so strange. "Bionic?" she repeats, positive that she's never heard the word before. Peeta shoots his brother a look and then turns to face her, all patience.

"It's a prosthetic. Rye just insists on calling it bionic because he thinks it sounds cooler."

"Because it does sound cooler," Rye says. "Unless you're some sort of pretentious dick that insists on having everything called by its proper name."

Her eyes widen at the insult, but Peeta just laughs. "It's a long boring story I'll tell you later, okay?" he asks, and she nods. "And Rye, don't be a jerk."

"Boys," their father says. "Be nice."

"To be fair, that is Rye being nice," Dylan says, which only serves to make both of his brothers laugh.

"Katniss!" Scarlett says suddenly, standing up. "I have to go freshen up. Come with me?"

She hesitates, not wanting to announce to the whole table that she doesn't really have to go.

"Come on. Don't make me go alone," Scarlett insists. Katniss looks over at Peeta, thoroughly confused, and he smiles at her, nodding towards Scarlett as if in agreement that she shouldn't make her go alone. She finally hesitantly stands up and follows her towards the back of the restaurant.

"That's how they play," Scarlett announces once the door is closed behind them.

Katniss watches while Scarlett messes with her hair in the message, not sure if she's supposed to respond or not. Scarlett glances over at her and then sort of smiles.

"You looked terrified, and I know I was too, at first. But mine is the instigator, so you shouldn't have too much of a hard time. Not that I did. Or that I do."

"Oh," Katniss says.

"Also, I say this knowing that it probably doesn't mean much to you one way or the other, but I think Peeta is a great guy. Rye was kidding when he said that he was Peeta's favorite, but Peeta is, without a shadow of a doubt, Rye's favorite. Maybe even my favorite, too."

It's quiet for a moment. Katniss plays with the end of her braid just to have something to do.

"You know, when it was my turn to have an uncomfortable family dinner, their parents didn't come. That was how tonight was supposed to be. Dylan had gone off to get drinks from the bar since the waiter was busy, and it was just me and Peeta and Astrid and she was talking to me about different modifications. Like, about how she had a friend with an unfortunate nose that was able to get it fixed. And Astrid lacks subtlety, so I knew exactly what she was trying to say about me. Peeta came to my rescue, though. He asked her – in that gentle way of his – why she brought it up and if she's been looking into any modifications. She was pretty quiet after that."

Katniss can feel a smile pulling at the corners of her lips at the story. She can imagine it pretty well, despite how little she knows Peeta.

"The thing is, though, that Peeta was having a hard time at that point. That's just . . . that's the kind of guy he is. He's nice."

"I think you're right," Katniss agrees, she sort of wants to relay the towel story buy she doesn't want to give Peeta's brothers any more ammunition to use against him, so she decides against it.

"He'd be glad to hear that, you know," Scarlett says. "That you think he's nice."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's been a goner since the night he ordered you. I mean, Dylan didn't put it as nicely as he could have, but we have heard a lot about you. You could ask him for the moon and he'd try his hardest to get it for you if he thought it would make you happy."

She thinks of his words from earlier. If you're ever going to be anywhere near comfortable here, you need to have at least some level of privacy. Even before that. I really hope you can be like it here, Katniss.

"Why is that?"

"I wish I knew," Scarlett says. "Rye was the same way, if it helps."

"Do you think they usually are? The guys that order wives?"

"They certainly didn't prepare us for anything like that."

Katniss swallows hard. "You were . . . a career?"

Scarlett laughs. "If that's what you call us, then sure. My mom sort of thought that the best you could be is a good wife so she put me through the classes. And it's not like I was allowed to have a boyfriend, so I signed up and Rye found me."

"Oh," Katniss says.

She half expects Scarlett to ask why she signed up, but she doesn't. "Well, it's like I said, I know how it can be. And I assume that means that Peeta is getting concerned right about now, so we might want to get going. Lipstick?"

She shakes her head but watches while Scarlett applies it. It barely makes a difference. Only makes her lips a shade or two lighter than they were a moment ago.

"Shall we?" she asks.

Katniss nods.

"Peeta has my phone number," Scarlett says. "You can call me if you ever need anything at all. Even if it's just to talk. Okay?"

She nods again.

"And one more thing, Katniss," Scarlett says, heading for the door but then hesitating and looking over her shoulder. "Don't let him beat himself up too badly about the whole name thing. Okay?"

"Hey, do you want to try mine?" Peeta asks after their meals have arrived and they've all started to eat. His voice is low enough that the conversation continues around them. She looks up from her plate for what must be the first time since it's been sitting in front of her. "I don't mind," he assures her, sliding his plate just a little bit closer to her.

Hesitantly, she wipes her fork off with her napkin and takes as little of the meal off of his plate as she can. She's only just gotten to taste it when his mother clears his throat.

"At least she has decent table manners for the most part," she says. "I've heard of brides from Twelve who eat with their hands like savages. That sort of thing would completely upset my digestion."

For some reason, Astrid snickers at this. Katniss' eyes drop down to her plate again. It takes everything inside of her not to ditch the silverware and eat with her hands. All the girls that sign up for the ordered spouse program from Twelve are just as desperate as she was, just wanting extra money to use to feed their families. She doubts that any of them would have seen a meal half as big as what she has in front of her in their lives.

"Good, right?" Peeta asks, and though her cheeks are hot and surely bright red, she nods. "Do you want more?"

She shakes her head. What she really wants is to know how someone who has proven himself to be kind as Peeta could have been raised by her. Scarlett catches Katniss' eye from across the table and raises her eyebrows just slightly. She doesn't have to say anything. Katniss knows that she thinks that what Mrs. Mellark said is ridiculous and there's something comforting about knowing that someone else does. A stolen glance up at Peeta shows her that he has his jaw clenched, he's so upset.

She slides her plate towards him, even though she's not entirely sure if she should or not. "You can try mine, if you want."

This makes him smile, but only slightly. "You're sure?"

His mother mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like now she's got everyone doing it and Peeta pauses.

"Excuse me?"

She won't repeat it. Katniss clears her throat and he sort of sighs before he tastes the stew.

"It's good," he assures her. "Really good."

"Do you want more?" she asks.

"I'm good, thank you," he says.

"Has Peeta talked to you about the position?" his father asks, and Katniss shakes her head.

"I don't think so."

"Well, we'd absolutely love to have you at the bakery, if that's something you would be interested in," his father says, and everyone quiets around them, waiting for her answer.

"I don't know how to bake," Katniss says honestly, and a few people chuckle but she doesn't see who.

"I could teach you," Peeta offers. "I mean, if you could learn how to work in a coalmine, I'm sure I could teach you how to throw some bread together."

This makes her smile, which encourages him.

"It could be fun. We would go in together and I could teach you how to bake. Of course, none of us are gonna take it personally if you'd rather not."

She can't think of an alternative that doesn't involve her spending all of her time alone in his apartment, so she nods. "I think I'd like to try it."

"I go back tomorrow, so you can come with me if you want."

"Actually, we have good news about that," Peeta's father says. "We were able to shuffle some shifts around and get you that week you asked for off, so you won't have to wait."

Peeta grins. "Really?"

"You have Rye to thank for it, mostly," he says, nodding. "He and Scarlett are picking up the majority of your shifts.

"Dad!" Rye says with a whine that even Katniss can tell is a joke. "You weren't supposed to say anything. He can't think I like him."

Peeta laughs. "That's great. Thank you guys."

"What are you going to do?" Astrid asks.

"Oh, nothing is definite yet," Peeta says. "It really just depends on what Katniss wants to do."

"I still think about how romantic it was when Dylan took me to District One for our honeymoon," she says, leaning a little bit closer to her husband. "Where was it that you and Rye went, Scarlett? Four?"

For some reason, Katniss feels defensive. "I'm glad Peeta didn't put me on a train as soon as I got here."

He smiles at her. "I thought that you might want to stay on solid ground for a little while."

For the rest of the meal, in spite of this, Astrid gushes about her honeymoon.

After a while, Rye announces that he and Scarlett should probably get going soon and Katniss' eyes must linger on them for too long because Peeta nods in agreement.

"Yeah, Katniss and I will probably have to skip out on dessert, too. We've got an early morning tomorrow," he says, stretching his back out a little bit. He glances down at her empty plate. "Are you ready?"

She nods, maybe a little bit too eagerly. He settles up with the waitress as soon as she passes the table again. She wonders if he's as ready to leave as she is, and if that's why he was so hesitant to come in the first place.

* * *

"I'm so sorry," he says once she's in the car, and she rests her head against the window. "That was a disaster."

"It wasn't that bad," she assures him.

"It was awful. My mother was . . . ugh. But Scarlett did sort of have a point, as much as I'd hate to admit it."

"About what?" she asks.

"I have a whole week off and absolutely nothing planned to show you," he says. "They scheduled me to take a week off next week, originally, because I didn't put in for time off with enough notice, but like they were saying, they changed it. Which is great, only, I had thought that maybe I'd have the chance to figure you out enough by next week so that I could find something you'd like to do."

"Oh. We don't have to do anything," she says, looking for a star through the window. She can't find one.

"Yes, we definitely do," he assures her. "We can do anything you want to. Do more shopping, or see a movie. I could take you to one of those national parks I was telling you about. If you'd be interested in camping, then I could see if we could borrow my dad's tent. It could be sort of fun, if you're into all of the outdoorsy stuff."

She sort of smiles. "Yes."

"You are?" he asks.

She thinks of about a thousand things she shouldn't tell him about. "What sort of things would we do out there?"

"Oh, anything," he says. "Just off of the top of my head, though, there's fishing or swimming or hiking. We could make a fire. It could be fun."

"And we'd stay in the woods?" she asks, because she never attempted thatback home. "All night?"

"Yeah! When we used to go when I was a kid we'd stay for like three days at a time. But we can stay however long you want. If you just wanted to go fishing or hiking or something and then go home, that would be fine, too."

"No, I want to stay in the woods," she says, and she thinks her voice is a little too firm, but Peeta doesn't seem to mind at all.

"You're great," he says instead.


End file.
